from the front porch i can see to the west.
it stretches, bends and eventually
wraps back round again.
warped clocks line walls,
created with unknown,
particular intent.
each hung and rearranged
as
seconds,
days,
years,
pass.
some are forever missing
or stolen.
others,
wait.
still
ticking.
2 comments:
ponies?
uhhhhhhhhhh whaaaaat is this? a pooooooooem? helllooooooo? i should know one when i see one. so says 90 grand in tuition. so i'm pretty sure this might be a poem. but its hard to say. could be. whoa. that would be a good thing. if it were one. maybe. also, i was the 100th onlooker to your page. what do i win?
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